Peter
by xodanio
Summary: Improbable storyline but possible fun just the same.


Author's Note: Found this in an old notebook, probably a year or two old. Thought I'd stick it up to see what other people thought. I can't tell if I like it or not; I only vaguely remember writing it. Dunno. Perked my friend's interest but I'm not too sure where it was going; there is only this section, and no notes to help me... I must have been in a very bad mood! Why I would trap Peter Pan in a mental hospital, however nice an establishment, is beyond me. Why he wouldn't just fly away is a further mystery! Anyone with any suggestions would be worshipped. In fact, my main reason FOR posting it to FF.net was to get some feedback. Which (I'm adding to this note now about a month or more after posting) I haven't gotten... ::Stares at the... one... review...:: .... THANKYOU single reviewer! I love you! You're my hero!  
  
Now I'm contemplating editing the narration to resemble Barry's. What say you? It would soften the modern edge this would have. Or maybe bend Barry's narration *into* a modern edge? Bah, but then I'd have to make the story mean something, and apply witty use of sarcasm, and write it for adults while keeping children entertained and out of the loop and just, ooooh my head hurts...  
  
Anyway, I leave it to you, the reader, to decide where – if anywhere – this is going. This is mostly as I found it with only a little revising. Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, but no flames! Please and thanks!  
  
Side note, this is my first story posted to FF.net! :D! Yay!  
  
*edit* fixed the blahblah part, though I'm not happy with the description of the Immy House; I just don't know what to do with it, guys; I don't know much about institutions like that, AND no one will help me with it. ::A few pointed glares:: Because you poor uninitiates think Peter Pan is stupid. ::Glareglareglare:: Because you haven't been infected by Peter Pan Syndrome. :: throws pixie dust at them :: Then again, maybe the Immy description is fine and I'm just being ana- uh... uptight.  
  
:X You know, I know this is unprofessional, but... PLEASE REVIIIEEEEW! ::beg::  
  
The original characters are mine!  
  
Unfortunately, I don't mean the original characters created by Barry's next door neigh- I mean Barry. Hum... England is a real place, and so is America. O.o But ... I disclaim them, anyway, I guess. Just in case. And Neverland... The Neverland belongs to all children and as far as dreams go, it's real enough. I, however, have no claim upon it. Sadsadsad. Ahaha... Whiiich reminds me! I used to live in Florida, and I went through a very long phase where I left my window open aaaaall the time! The only things that came in were tiny black bugs and mosquitoes and itty bitty hopper bugs and daddy long legs and big moths and tiny moths and the most disgusting insect of all the palmetto bug any number of cats and neighbors, but no Peter Pan; not even a firefly to mistake for a fairy... So I suppose I have no relation whatsoever to the Darling family, either...  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*  
  
"Excuse me, Miss Darling! I'm talking to you!"  
  
The said Miss Darling blinked and whipped her head around so fast that her brown curls whapped her sweet, round, smiling face. "Oh! Sorry, I was ignoring you!"  
  
"Peter Pan, Miss Darling," was the dry reply. The teacher looked over the rim of her spectacles (Spectacles, for heaven's sake! The woman was as old as they were, too, and blind as a bat, and she wore _spectacles_! Seemingly to protest the major advantages of modern science; like _glasses_, and _electric_ pencil sharpeners...) to glare at the blatantly disrespectful pupil.  
  
Angela groaned and began to turn back towards the window. All her life she'd been plagued by the stories of Peter Pan and the Neverland, and the teases and taunts that accompanied her association with the author. It didn't help that Great-grandma Wendy was completely batty-oops-senile, and not only believed her own stories but told them, all of them, to anyone who was too polite to just walk away. It was really the only thing anyone could do when she started talking about "_her_ Peter."  
  
God, it was annoying.  
  
"Cut me some slack, Mrs. Beamon, please!"  
  
"Angie! I was telling you about one of the cases at the center! He's about your age and is just a boarder, at this point. He used to think he was Peter Pan!"  
  
Angela perked up in her seat, a huge grin splitting her face. "Are you serious?!"  
  
"He's doing very well and he's still part of the program. I thought I'd give you first dibs since he's such a huge part of your family's history."  
  
"Funny, yeah... Yeah, _laugh_!" Angie whirled on the hysterical girl behind her (who was prone to said hysterics at the drop of half of a hat), brandishing her pen sword menacingly. "I warn you, madam, I am no fool with a sword."  
  
Cori feigned surrender and stifled her mirth. "But that's a penc- Right! Sorry! Parle! But you should go for it!"  
  
"Definitely!" a girl next to them added. "I mean, seriously! *The* Peter Pan! You can't pass up a chance like that, Angie."  
  
A pregnant pause.  
  
"Not with your lineage!"  
  
Angela rolled her eyes as the small group of girls fell to their laughter, but her eyes twinkled gamely. "Alright, alright. I'll take fly-guy. You ladies can have the lost boys," she conceded haughtily, waving a hand in dismissal.  
  
"You never had a choice," their teacher tried to quip without much success after order had resumed, and looked back down to her list. "Next, comes Ca  
  
"Captain Hook!"  
  
Again the group of students was lost to its laughter, and this time Angie was no exception. Mrs. Beamon was left to reestablish the strived-for dignity of the unabashed young "women". Really! Sometimes this group drove her to fits!  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The dance was held three nights later at the Immy House. If "Immy" ever stood for something, the meaning was long ago forgotten. The House was not a mental institution, but a "halfway" house where certifiably recovered boys and young men were sent to be introduced back into society. The girls' school was virtually right next door, and years ago the dance had been established by the school's founder, the wife of a recovered nutcase herself! Angie grinned at the thought, readying herself for the ball. Some people didn't like the idea of it, but the participants and mentors involved looked forward to it every year.  
  
Strange as the whole thing was, it was fun, and an air of danger could be imagined; one of these boys *could* be and ex-psycopath murderer!! There was a strange, twisted glamour to the whole affair... with a tilt of the head and some squinting of the eyes and a great deal of imagination, it was definitely there!  
  
Really, the girls were in no danger at all. Of the young men who graduated from the Immy House, most became respectable students, or workers, or artists. Very. Very few had any criminal record and those that did had only petty crimes to boast of. The Immy House worked very hard to give them a clean slate and (except where required by law) very few people would ever know that an Immy boy was ever institutionalized. The House had, to the People's eye, become more of a boys' school than anything else; very similar to the girls' school it neighbored. As such, no one thought twice about the annual Spring Ball hosted at the Immy House.  
  
So there she was, dressed in baby blue, in a nest full of ex-cuckoos, waiting for Peter Pan.  
  
What a life, huh?  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Peter – for he had kept the name despite being disillusioned – entered the ballroom along with the other 11 young men invited to the dance. When he saw his date, his heart leapt to his throat and the small voice that still whispered small insanities into his mind crowed triumphantly. "There, you see!?" it said. "It's her! I told you! She'll believe me! She didn't forget! Do you see? It's her! Oh, it's her!"  
  
It took a mighty effort to will the voice away.  
  
Anyway, it wasn't her. It only *looked* like her.  
  
Finally the young men each stood before their respective dance partners. Music gradually filled the room and the teachers melted into the background. The students relaxed and studied their dance partners.  
  
It was a blue dress, Peter noted, not a night shift, though it was made of a fabric as light as one. She looked good in it, he thought, with a crooked grin. It suited her.  
  
She looked huffy when his eyes lifted ("Finally," she thought) to her face, and the sentiment reached her eyes when his cocky grin broadened. "I'm Peter."  
  
"Is that it?"  
  
"Peter Banning," he elaborated with only a subtle dampening of spirits at the possible innuendo to the damned book.  
  
"Angela Darling. Pleased to meet you, Peter Ban-ing."  
  
It was his turn to look annoyed, even angry, and his chest puffed when he noticed the impish twinkle in her cornflower eyes.  
  
Hussy! She was...  
  
"I'm serious. :X"  
  
...serious. Wait, what?  
  
"If the name bothers you, Tori will switch," she said as she waved at one of the girls who looked up at the gesture.  
  
He studied her a moment longer before lifting his head and leading her onto the dance floor. "That doesn't bother *me*, Darling" was his haughty response.  
  
The dance had begun. 


End file.
